The Indigo Order of Belka

by Conor Reid

A story about the 51st Tactical Fighter Squadron and their adventures during the Belkan War.

THE INDIGO ORDER OF BELKA

BY CONOR REID

PROLOGUE

April 20, 1995

Priority Airspace B7R, "The Round Table," Belka

The sky was clear of clouds. So calm. So pure. You could see for miles on that fateful day. My unit, the 51st Tactical Fighter Squadron, 7th Air Division, Belkan Air Force, better known as Indigo Squadron, had just been transfered from the stable Eastern Front to the airspace B7R, Belka's pride and jewel during the infamous Belkan War. Countless pilots had been shot down in the so called "Round Table," it's namesake coming from the mountain ranges around the area form a circle. It was such a hotly contested area because of it's rich mineral deposits, one of the main reasons why the Belka decided to expand beyond it's receding borders and begin the Belkan War.

To us, Indigo Squadron, The Round Table was nothing special. We even accumulated a few kills from shooting down pilots in B7R. But this day just felt… different. Something hung in the air. To this day I can't pinpoint the feeling I had before we dove into battle, but if was something I've never felt before. I remember peering down at the barren ground below me, and wondering of the fate of all those pilots who had been shot down before me, both Belkan and Allied Forces.

AWACS, callsign "Spion," came and the radio and announced, "Two Ustian fighters, bering two six nine. All units, prepare to intercept."

"Roger Spion, Indigo Squadron moving to intercept the bandits."

It would be two or three minutes before we could get to the fighters. There was a preliminary force of Belkan fighters closer to the Ustian aircraft, so they were vectored for the intercept. I thought it very strange that Ustio would send only two fighters to the Round Table, the most deadly airspace of the whole war.

As if he could read my mind, my wingman, Berti Backenbauer, said, "Two fighters? They must be insane."

"Roger that, Indigo 2! Ustio's commanders must have lost their minds!" replied Mathias Overath, better known as Indigo 3.

Hearing chatter from the other Belkan squadrons, they all seemed to share our state of mind. "Two fighters should be easy pickings for the Round Table," one pilot exclaimed.

Another pointed out, "Did Ustio forget that this is the Round Table?" I thought that we wouldn't even get there in time to score the kills.

We were about 10 miles out when the leader of Falke squadron, the preliminary force, announced, "Falke 1 to all units, we have engaged the enemy. They are both in F-15C Eagles, one with wings painted blue, the other with only one wing painted red. We should have the sit-" an explosion was heard on the other end, and the radio went dead. Then, cries of "Falke 1, eject! Eject!" and "I'm hit!" barraged our eardrums. I watched as plane after plane exploded in the air, cut down by the two Eagles. Massive piles of debris and parachutes filled the air. My squad's attitude was grim.

I could tell that they were good, and that it was going to be bad for us. But there was something else I noticed. The lead plane, the blue Eagle, hesitated; a vulnerability that can be exploited. With this discovery, I was certain I would win. I reasoned that he was still young, and had yet to master the rules of combat. My confidence in myself and my team was high, so we plunged head first into the furball.

"Indigo 1 to all units, target spotted. Commencing attack."

"Roger boss. Indigo 2, engaging."

"Indigo 3, engage."

"Indigo 4, engaging."

I pushed hard on the throttle, barreling full speed into the bandits with my JAS 39 Gripen. The Gripen was my aircraft of choice, it's acceleration and grace in flying was a perfect fit for Indigo Squadron.

"Watch out, these guys are mercenaries. Stay sharp," I reported after seeing their squadron number, 66th Air Force Unit, 6th Air Division, Ustian Air Force. I recalled from a report I had recently read that the 66th Air Force Unit had recently been reorganized into a mercenaries-only squadron.

I pulled back on my stick, and the force of 4 Gs pushed against my face. I tried to get a lock on the red winged Eagle, strategizing that I would take out the number two first, and then deal with the almost inhuman pilot. The Eagle was much more experienced than I had anticipated, and I could not get a lock on him for more than a few seconds, no where near enough time to launch a missile.

"Unlike you mercenaries, I fight for a real cause. The ones who survive are those who fight for their beliefs," I taunted over the radio, putting it on a frequency I knew the two fighters could hear. Taunting can demoralize your enemy, while raising the morale of your own squad. This strategy had work many times in the past, and has no reason to believe that it wouldn't work now.

Unlike most enemies I have face, the mercenaries had the nerve to respond to my taunt. "This is the Round Table. Dead men's words hold no mean."

I decided that, for the moment, I would give up taunting and focus on the battle. While I continued to try in vain to obtain a lock on Red Wing, it seemed the rest of my squad was faring no better.

"Damn, I can't get a lock on this guy! He's too fast!" cried Indigo 3.

"This is Indigo 1. Indigo 4, I want you to dive on the blue wing fighter. Indigo 3, distract the blue Eagle long enough for Indigo 4 to get a shot. Indigo 2, stay with me. We're going to take down the red Eagle."

"Roger Indigo 1. Indigo 4, preparing to climb above the mercenary," replied Franz Breitner.

"Indigo 3, commencing distraction." He flew down in front of Blue Wing, trying to get it's attention. Then, I watched in horror as Mathias turned directly into the blue Eagle's path. "Shit, he's got a lock on me!" I could hear the terror in his voice, but I knew it was too late.

I saw a plume of smoke come from the right wing of the mercenary's fighter, and continued to watch as it headed directly for Mathias's engine. It exploded in a massive fireball of metal and plummeted to earth. Indigo 3's plane was in pieces, all of which were falling to the ground at a ridiculous speed. By some miracle the cockpit was intact, which game Mathias enough time to eject before the cockpit fell to the ground and compressed into a very small piece of metal. I watched as a white parachute and the silhouette of a man gently glided to Earth.

Franz, although shaken by what had just conspired, continued with the plan, and dove straight towards the blue Eagle. I heard the low pitched "beep" of a good lock come from his cockpit, and he exclaimed, "I got a lock on him! Indigo 4, Fox 2!" Two missiles flew out of the wings of his Gripen fighter, heading right for Blue Wing.

The pilot turned left, then right, then left again to try and avoid the missiles. He let out some chaff, which confused one of the missiles. Then, he made a nosedive towards the ground, and, at the last moment, headed straight back up, sending the missile straight into the Earth.

"Damn," Indigo 4 said disappointingly. The plan that cost Mathias his plane, and possibly his life, was to no avail.

"Indigo 2, go cover Indigo 4. I'll take care of Red Wing."

Franz had Blue Wing on his six, so Berti maneuvered in behind him, trying to get a clear shot at the blue Eagle. Berti let a few bullets fly at Blue Wing; who responded by throwing some bullets at Franz. Then, Franz slowed down, letting Blue Wing speed in front of him. Indigo 2 and 4 proceeded to perform the classic Thach Weave. Berti became the "bait" fighter, while Franz was the "hook." Berti tried to make Blue Wing follow him, which he did. Then, Berti and Franz crossed paths, while Blue Wing still followed Berti. Berti and Franz then crossed paths again, but this time the mercenary was directly in Franz's sights.

"Indigo 4, Fox 2!"

Another plume of smoke erupted from the left wing of Franz's JAS 39 Gripen, and headed straight for Blue Wing. The Thach Weave was an extremely robust and reliable air maneuver; it almost never fails. In this case, it did.

The blue Eagle, in a desperate attempt to avoid Indigo 4's missile, climbed high into the air and then rolled down, performing a full 360 degree flip. The missile, unable to detect where the target had gone, flew off into the crystal clear sky of B7R.

Meanwhile, I had my hands full with Red Wing. I would get in behind him, try to achieve a lock, which, just like last time, occurred for a precious few seconds. Then, he would curve around me, and try to get a lock on me. We did this three or four times, hoping one of us would break the cycle. Neither of us did, so I called for support.

"I need support, I'm having real trouble getting a lock on Red Wing."

Franz, with aggravation and frustration in his voice, hastily replied, "Sorry boss, but we're not having the easiest of times, either."

"Roger Indigo 3, I read you. I'm going to bring Red Wing back to you guys, and we'll surround them."

"Wilco boss. Let's encircle the bastards!" replied Franz.

Indigo Squadron (well, what remained of it) formed up and encircled the two Eagles, trapping them inside. We were using a modified version of the Lufbery circle; if one aircraft tried to shoot down one of the aircraft in the circle, the one behind it would shoot him down first. This usually doesn't work with modern aircraft because of missiles, but because our Gripens had a faster and smaller turning radius than the Eagles, we were safe from any missile fire from the mercenaries.

Both fighters tried to shoot us down by going in to the circle, but after we got a lock on them, they backed out, unwilling to take the chance of getting shot down. We continued to play this game of cat and mouse for a few minutes. Each time it felt as if the mercenaries were taunting us to break the cycle, to come out and chase them instead of staying with Indigo Squadron.

Sensing that my squad was growing weak by the continued stalemate, I gave a few words of warning to keep them on their toes.

"Don't show any weakness, or you'll get shot down!"

As the ballet of dancing fighters continued, it seemed Blue Wing grew restless of the pattern. He broke out of the circle, and performed a very wide, climbing turn to change his direction, sometimes referred to as the Herbst maneuver. With this turn, Blue Wing was able to descend directly in front of Franz's Gripen. I saw an all too familiar plume of smoke rocket from underneath Blue Wing's wing, slamming directly into Indigo 3's left wing.

The impact of the missile blew the wing right off, sending the aircraft spinning with no hope of stabilizing. Not only was the aircraft spinning horizontally, it was also losing altitude, and fast. I saw another rush of smoke, this time from the cockpit, as Franz was shot out of his aircraft. The ominous white parachute appeared, helping Franz sail down to the earth.

His Gripen, however, was not so lucky. It crashed into the barren landscape below, exploding in a massive fireball that sent a huge plume of smoke into the air. The sudden appearance of smoke stopped the dogfight for a split second, enough for me to contemplate what had just occurred.

Two pilots in one of Belka's premier fighter squadrons had just been shot down by two Ustian mercenaries. Mercenaries were destroying honorable and chivalric Belkan Aces, not for an ideology or religion, not for their country or their honor, but for money. There could be no worse defeat for the proud Belkan Air Force.

At this point in the engagement, I had judged that we were probably not going to survive. These pilots were too good; they were so daring and sudden, unpredictable and fast. But, I decided to carry on instead of disengaging; better to die with honor then run away from a band of greedy mercenaries.

"Indigo 2, you have permission to disengage. This fight is over."

"But what about you boss? Are you?"

"No, I'm staying here. Better to die a hero than live a coward."

"Then I'm not going. Indigo 1, I'm not letting you get all the fame!"

"Roger Indigo 2. Strength and honor!"

I then formed up with Berti by my side, for, what I thought was going to be, our last flight. We headed straight into the Ustian mercenaries, and exchanged missiles.

One of them hit Berti, who's right engine was blown off. With this loss of balance, his aircraft became infinitely harder to control. Knowing there was nothing to do but eject, Indigo 2 came on the radio and transmitted a final time. "Dimitri, see you on the ground!" It sounded sober, but somewhat hopeful.

Berti was shot out of his cockpit and into the sky. Seconds later, his white parachute opened up, safely guiding him to the ground.

Now his plane was not only unbalanced, but without a pilot as well. Without someone at the controls, the JAS 39 Gripen flew straight into the earth, erupting in a large ball of fire.

Knowing my time was up, I tried one last time to get a lock on Blue Wing. I fired my missile, and he his. His hit dead on, and my plane began to plummet towards the ground. My engines were gone, and warning lights were flashing everywhere. Intense heat was creeping up upon the cockpit, and I could observe both of my wings on fire from the missile impact. I slowly started to black out. My field of vision was slowly closing, my sense of hearing growing fainter and fainter. I fumbled for the eject button, barely seeing it but knowing it was there. I pressed down hard with every once of force I had left. I felt a jolt, and suddenly a warm breeze upon my face. I heard the roar of jets, knowing my missile did not hit home. I gave a feint smile, and fell into unconsciousness.

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